


Black Kings & White Knights

by wilddragonflying



Series: Leverage/Supernatural Crossover [2]
Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Leverage team takes a job in Charlottesville, Virginia, to take down the CEO of an accounting company. When they show up, though, they run into some brothers who bring more than a touch of the supernatural to the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Kings & White Knights

Black Kings & White Knights

 

 

 

** Warning: **

**This fic will contain spoilers for Seasons 1 & 2 of _Leverage_ and Seasons 1-4 of _Supernatural._ Read at your own risk.**

 

***

 

_Boston_ _, Massachusetts_

Eliot and Nate were sitting in the booth across from a husband and wife. The husband, Mr. Richards, was holding his wife, who was crying. The couple had come into McRory’s Pub, looking for assistance from the Leverage team.

 

“I worked for that company for five decades, Mr. Ford,” Mr. Richards was saying. “And they never had a problem with the insurance before. But now, with Knellings in charge, things have been going downhill, fast. First it was a lot of lay-offs, then pay cuts, and now this.” Mr. Richards leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Mr. Ford, Knellings _himself_ refused to authorize my insurance, the insurance that could have paid for my son’s treatment, could have saved my son’s life. He as good as murdered my son, and I want him to pay.” The elderly man looked at Nate, his eyes begging him to understand.

 

Eliot glanced at Nate, saw the tightness behind his eyes that came up every time someone mentioned their child dying because of some company. Ever since Nate’s own son had died, that was Nate’s personal vendetta. Eliot looked at the couple and smiled. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Richards, we will see what we can do; it will take a while to set up, of course, but we will help.” He reached across the table and shook the couple’s hands before bundling Nate out of the booth and upstairs to the operations room.

 

Nate didn’t speak until they were inside his apartment, and that was only to tell Hardison to pull up all the information on Hastings’s Accounting that he could find.

 

A few minutes later, the whole team—Nate, Sophie, Parker, Eliot, and Hardison—were seated at the bar that was facing the big screens that Hardison was so fond of. “Alright,” Hardison began, his customary clicker in hand, flicking through different photos as he talked, “so Mr. Richards was right. Up until about a year ago, Hastings’s Accounting was a great company. Good profits, good customer rep, good employee rep. Then old man Hastings retires, passes the company to his right-hand man, Derek Knellings. Now, before, Knellings was a pretty cool guy. Hung out with the employees, shaking hands, kissing babies, attending company golf games, all that jazz. Then, as soon as he comes into power, he turns into a complete jerk. He’s booting people out of the company left and right, cutting paychecks and expenses. Hastings’s profits have never been higher, but they’re coming at the expense of the employees.”

 

“So Knellings was covering his true personality, looking for a promotion,” Nate mused, for clarification. Eliot narrowed his eyes. Something about that didn’t seem right. Knellings sounded like he’d been a genuinely good guy; why would he suddenly do a 180?

 

Hardison shrugged. “May be. But whatever it is, it’s seriously hurting the employees. Richards isn’t the only guy to get stiffed on his insurance, but he’s the first one to have that jilt result in a fatality. Nate, we gotta go help.”

 

Nate nodded slowly. “Now, Knellings’s office is located in Virginia, right?”

 

Hardison nodded, calling up a picture of the outside of the office. “Yep. Charlottesville, Virginia. Quaint little town, home to the University of Virginia.”

 

“All right, so, how are we going to play this?” Sophie asked, looking around at the rest of the team. “Any ideas?”

 

“Could just break in and kidnap him, hold him down, torture the why of it out of him,” Parker mused. Everyone stared at her, gaping, until she glanced up. “What?” she asked innocently.

 

“There’s something wrong with you,” Eliot said. Parker just shrugged.

 

“We’ll keep that in mind, Parker, but I don’t think that’ll work too well,” Nate broke in. He glanced at Eliot. “But I think the gaining access to the business is a good idea. Hardison, how’s your tech support acting?”

 

Eliot just groaned.

 

***

_Tift County_ _, Alabama_

  
Dean looked at Sam across their table, frowning at Sam’s untouched plate of eggs and sausage. “Dude,” he said through a mouthful of his own pancakes drowned in maple syrup with a side of sausages, “eat.”

 

“Dude,” Sam mimicked, without looking up from his laptop, “manners.”

 

Dean snorted, but swallowed before saying anything else. “So, what’s got you so absorbed, anyway?” he asked, leaning over the table, trying to get a peek at the laptop. Sam obligingly turned it so Dean could see what was on the screen.

 

“Hastings’s Accounting,” he announced. “The founder, Halrick Hastings, stepped down about a year ago, passing the company to the next in command, Derek Knellings. Once he was in control, Knellings’s personality completely flipped. I mean, the guy went from being pretty nice to being a complete asshole. He’s laying people off for completely made up reasons, cutting their paychecks, and not letting the insurance do what it’s supposed to.”

 

Dean eyed the website. It looked like the company’s official website to him. “How the hell did you get all that information?” he asked, looking at Sam suspiciously.

 

“I know a few things. Learned ‘em from a guy I knew in Stanford. Anyway, so Knellings pulls a complete 180 personality-wise at about the same time all these weird sightings start popping up.” Sam paused for effect, and Dean had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Ghost sightings.”

 

“You think he’s haunted?” Dean asked, taking another bite of his pancakes.

 

“Could be, if the ghost that’s haunting him is pissed enough. I think we should check it out.” Sam finally ate some of his eggs, but Dean could see his jacket moving slightly, and knew that Sam’s foot was jackhammering through the floor.

 

“All right. Not like we’ve got anything else to do while we’re sitting on our asses twiddling our thumbs and waiting for Lillith to break the seals.” Dean finished his plate, waited for Sam to eat a few more bites of his, and then Dean paid the check—cash, as always—before leading the way out of the diner and to the Impala, sliding behind the wheel.

 

Sam was quiet, waiting for Dean to get almost to the Interstate before commenting, “By the way, do you know where you’re going?”

 

Dean swore. “Dammit, Sam—“ he started, but Sam cut him off, grinning.

 

“Charlottesville, Virginia,” he supplied, snickering at Dean’s furious face.

 

Dean just flipped him off and pulled onto the Interstate, heading north.

 

 

 

After several hours of driving—Dean hadn’t wanted to stop now that he had a case, so he was running on about eight cups of coffee and everything was starting to move in slow motion—they finally got a room in a motel. Throwing their things in, Dean’s first stop was the bathroom. After relieving his bladder, he came back out and looked at Sam. “So,” he said, sitting down on the bed. “How’re we getting in?”

 

Sam rolled one shoulder, rubbing it absently. “I’m thinking I’ll go in, get a minor job there or something, start digging around inside the company, see if I can find anything out.”

 

Dean nodded. “Then I guess I’ll play the FBI card, ask around about murders or deaths in the company?” he suggested. Sam nodded in agreement, and they planned for another few minutes before Sam finally went to take a shower. Dean undressed—well, he kicked off his shoes—and laid back on the bed, fully expecting to be up the rest of the night thanks to all that coffee that, in retrospect, hadn’t been the best thing to be pouring into his body.

 

He was asleep before Sam was done with his shower.

 

***  
  
Eliot smiled, flirting with the receptionist. The team had come down to Charlottesville a few days ago, and gotten Hardison set up in the company as a tech support guy. As long as Hardison didn’t try any grifting, the team should be good. The younger man was going to dig around in the company files, see if maybe Knellings had been doing some under-the-table dealings, and if not, then try to find out what was causing his bipolar personality.

 

One man came in, walked up to the desk. He was tall, taller than Eliot, but his hair was shockingly similar. Shorter, but the same essential style and color. Eliot quickly assessed him. Dressed like a geek, holding a briefcase, glasses tucked into the pocket of his shirt. Dismissing him, Eliot winked at the girl. “I can see you’ve got work to do, ma’am,” he said, laying the charm on thickly. “I’ll let you get to it.” She giggled before turning to the other man.

 

“Can I help you?” she asked brightly, blushing. Eliot turned and walked away, smiling. As he walked away, he heard the man say, “My name’s Sam Mustaine, I was supposed to be starting in IT today?”

 

Eliot tensed, but kept walking. The odds were slim of another new IT guy the same day they showed up, but not impossible. As he was walking, however, a man in an FBI suit came in. Eliot acted calm, but every sense went on red alert. The man dressed like FBI, but he didn’t walk like FBI. Eliot knew a grifter when he saw one, and suddenly he didn’t like this, not at all. “Nate, we got a problem,” he growled, putting a hand to his comm as he walked out of the building, striding for the one they had temporarily rented.

 

“What is it?” Nate’s voice came over the comm as if he was walking right next to Eliot.

 

“Fake FBI agent and new IT guy, arrived barely two minutes apart. IT guy’s name is Sam Mustaine, don’t know about the FBI faker.” He glanced behind him, but determined that he wasn’t being followed.

 

“How do you know he’s a fake?” Nate asked, as Eliot heard Hardison start tapping keys on the (apparently) crummy, Stone-Age computer in his new cubicle.

 

“He didn’t walk like FBI,” Eliot said, then braced himself for what he knew was coming.

 

He wasn’t disappointed. “You can tell if an agent’s fake or real by how they walk?” Parker asked. Eliot could see the building across the street from Hastings’s offices that Parker was doing surveillance from, even if he couldn’t see Parker herself.

 

“It’s a very distinctive walk,” he growled back as he entered their rented building. “Look, point is, we got some other team here pulling another job. Maybe they’re the ones behind Knellings’s personality swap.”

 

“Hm,” was all Nate said, and Eliot resisted the urge to punch the wall. Seriously, Nate was supposed to be the mastermind here; why wouldn’t that be a possibility?

 

***  
  
Sam glanced around the IT room as he stepped inside. There were three cubicles, all facing each other. Two of them were occupied, but it was the occupant of the one facing him that caught his attention. He sucked in a sharp breath. No, that couldn’t be Jake Talley. Sam had shot him full of holes the same day Dean had shot Azazael. Sam knew he was dead, but here he was, sitting at an IT desk, and most definitely _not_ dead.

 

Slowly Sam walked over to the other unoccupied cubicle, the one next to not-Jake, and sat down, turning the computer on and beginning the charade that would be his job until his and Dean’s job was completed and the ghost’s body was salted and burned.

 

Furious key-tapping came from his left, and Sam resisted the urge to look over. At least, until he heard a sharp intake of breath. “Guys,” he heard whispered from the next cubicle, “he’s in the cubicle next to me, but—“ Here the whispering dropped to a murmur, too low for Sam to easily make out, but he definitely heard the term “legit.” Then the murmuring, stopped, too, and Sam waited. After a moment, he heard a sigh, some more murmuring, and then a muttered, “Fine.”

 

He heard the other man’s chair roller’s squeak, and hastily started pretending that he’d been working instead of eavesdropping. “Hey,” he heard from his left, and he’d be damned if the guy didn’t _sound_ just like Jake, too.

 

“Hey,” he replied, glancing up.

 

“Alec Dodge,” the man said, holding out a hand. The name didn’t quite come out smoothly, and instantly Sam was suspicious. He didn’t let it show, though, instead reaching out and shaking Alec’s hand.

 

“Sam Mustaine,” he answered, pulling his hand back and tapping a few more keys, bringing up what he was supposed to be working on: a general look-over of the company’s system, just to get acquainted with it.

 

“You new?” Alec asked, reclining in his chair. If Sam didn’t know any better—and at this point Sam was beginning to think he didn’t—he would have thought that Alec was studying him just a little too hard to be mere curiosity.

 

“Yeah. Just started today. You?” he asked, glancing at Alec and then back at the computer screen, handling the keyboard expertly. He thought he saw Alec’s gaze flick approvingly at Sam’s fingers before returning to his face.

 

“Yep. So, what made you choose Hastings?” Alec asked, swiveling back and forth in his chair, giving off an air of nonchalance.

 

Sam decided to nip this in the bud. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what you’re after, but if it’s sex, I don’t swing that way. If it’s not and you’re just being friendly in your own pushy way, then I have work to do and I’d rather not get in trouble on my first day,” he said, with just the right amount of irritability to be off-putting.

 

Alec blinked in surprise, and then held up his hands. “All right. Sorry,” he muttered, returning to his own keyboard. Sam let out a tiny sigh of relief. Something wasn’t right here, but he didn’t have time to figure out what.

 

***  
  
Dean was being followed.

 

Oh, the guy was good, but when you spend all but the first four years of your thirty year life on the run—always looking over your shoulder for something that’s so much better at hiding than a human is—spotting a human stalker isn’t that hard. Shaking it is even easier. Or at least, it should be.

 

After an hour of walking, Dean was starting to get pissed. Who the hell _was_ this guy, anyway? Another hour and Dean had finally lost him. Shaking his head angrily, Dean backtracked to the Impala, jumping in and driving to the local library to dig up some newspapers, and maybe sweet-talk the librarian into helping him so he didn’t have to spend all afternoon in the damn place.

 

He noticed a black van parked outside of an older building, but dismissed it. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw the same man—or at least, he was pretty sure it was the same man—who’d been following him climb into the van. Frowning, Dean debated going back, but decided against it. For now, that could wait. He wanted to gank this ghost before someone else died because of it.

 

 

 

Several hours after that, he was leaving the library to head out to pick up Sam. All he had found in connection to Hastings—besides the glowing reports of how friendly and nice the place was, and jeez but did Dean want to just grab that old man Hastings and shake him till his teeth rattled in his head—was that the old second-in-command, a woman named Jen Rhyans, had committed suicide in her office. Which was now Knellings’s office. Dean wasn’t sure that Jen would be powerful enough after only a year to actually possess someone instead of merely flinging furniture, but if she was an _angry_ suicide, and blamed someone at the company for her death, then she might be. Dean would have to get up to that office, give it a once-over with the EMF scanner.

 

Sam was waiting for him when he pulled up, and Dean noted that Sam seemed pissed about something. Pissed enough that he threw his bag in the backseat without any care for the laptop Dean knew was still inside. That was bad, because Sam loved that thing more than he would his own child. “What happened?” Dean asked as he took his foot off the brake, accelerating smoothly out of the parking lot and heading for their motel.

 

“My coworker—who’s also just started today—was either interrogating me or hitting on me, I’m not sure which,” Sam fumed, and Dean snickered.

 

“Aw, Sammy, you gotta realize you’re one hot piece of—“

 

“Dean!” Sam looked at him, exasperated.

 

Dean laughed again, holding a hand up in apology. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. So what made you think he was interrogating you?”

 

“He kept asking me all these questions, who was I, how long have I been in the area, why’d I choose Hastings… It was just weird, like he was trying to be subtle about it, but failing, horribly.” Sam leaned back against the leather seat, his arms crossed as he stared out the passenger window. Dean kept quiet; he knew better than to interrupt Sam when he was in his “serious thinking” position. Finally Sam spoke. “I wonder… Before he started interrogating me, I heard him whispering to himself. He said, ‘Guys, he’s in the cubicle next to me,’ like he _knew_ me.” Sam hesitated, and Dean glanced over.

 

“What?” he asked, worried at the look on Sam’s face. Sam was worried, too. If he gnawed any harder on that lower lip he was going to chew it right off his face.

 

“It’s just… He looks exactly—and I mean _exactly_ —like Jake Talley.” Sam glanced over at Dean, waiting for his older brother’s reaction.

 

Dean felt like his stomach just took a dive from the high board. Jake Talley, the one who’d killed Sam before Dean sold his soul to get Sam back. Jake, the one Sam had shot full of holes in front of the mausoleum after Jake had opened it up. “That’s impossible,” he said, trying to choke back his panic.

 

“I know. Says his name is Alec Dodge, but, Dean, he is _exactly_ like Jake. Same voice, face, height, _everything._ ” Sam was back to gnawing on his lower lip.

 

“All right. All right. We’ll figure this out. Maybe he was talking on a communication thing?” Dean focused on not hitting anyone as he pulled off of the main road into their parking lot.

 

Sam didn’t answer until they were back in their motel room. “Maybe. But Dean, _why?_ Why would he be so worried about me, if he’s not Jake?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dean said, feeling lost. He took a deep breath. “And we’re not going to find out now, at any rate. Look, I found some things out at the library. This girl, Jen Rhyans, offed herself in her office about two years ago. She worked for Hastings. Not the company, the man. She was his right-hand woman.”

 

“So, angry suicide?” Sam asked, visibly forcing himself to abandon, at least temporarily, the issue of the Jake-look-alike.

 

“Could be. Couldn’t find out why she killed herself, though.”

 

“How’d she do it?” This was closer to the Sam Dean knew, the one that found a problem needing a solution and went after it like a bull terrier.

 

“Hanged. Attached to the ceiling fan, rolled her big spinny chair under it, wrapped the rope around her neck, and kicked the chair backwards.”

 

Sam was quiet. “That could easily be a murder,” he said, glancing up at Dean, then at the bedside clock. “It’s nearly eight, though; the coroner’s office won’t be open.”

 

“I know,” Dean said. He reached over, grabbed the other suit he’d picked up. “Figured tomorrow, since it’s a Saturday and Hastings’s isn’t open on Saturdays, we’d swing by, see what we could find.”

 

Sam nodded, but his mind had obviously returned to the problem of Alec Dodge and his uncanny resemblance to Jake. Dean just sighed, knowing that he’d never get Sam off of it, and the best thing to do would be to let Sam work it through himself.

 

***  
  
“So check this: Jen Rhyans and Derek Knellings were coworkers, right? Well, I did a bit of digging into Derek’s records—phone, computer, email, and the like—of about two years ago, and he had an unhealthy obsession with her.” Hardison paused, looking at the other members of the team expectantly.

 

Eliot waved a hand impatiently. “Get to the point, Hardison,” he said, frowning.

 

“Two years ago, she killed herself. Hanged herself in her office. Which became _Knellings’s_ office after she killed herself. Jen was the second in command, and when she died, Hastings promoted Knellings.”

 

“So maybe Knellings killed her?” Sophie asked, looking vaguely disturbed. Hardison shook his head, pulling up one of the emails.

 

“Nah. He was obsessed with her, in the creepy, stalker, gonna-love-you-till-the-day-I-die, you-can’t-love-anyone-else way. I’m sure there’s a connection there somewhere, I just need to do a bit more digging.”

 

Nate nodded. “Now, what about this new coworker of yours? Sam Mustaine?”

 

Hardison grinned uncomfortably. “Well, y’all know that I ain’t the best grifter, and when I started asking questions, well, at first he thought I was hitting on him.”

 

Eliot smirked. “Sure you weren’t?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, I got a pretty good look at the guy, and if I liked to play that game, hell, I’d have taken a pass at him.”

 

Hardison gave him a disgusted look. “Dude, seriously. Anyway so after he quit answering my questions and started just flat-out ignoring me, I looked him up. Ran some of my special programs and whatnot, and this dude is legit. I mean, his file and everything is so squeaky clean it’s like it’s been purified by God or something.”

 

“And that’s a bad thing?” Parker asked, frowning in confusion.

 

“It’s _too_ clean,” Hardison confirmed. “Sam Mustaine’s got records, all right, but they’re all your typical, average guy things. But the way he handles a keyboard, hell, I’d think he was a hacker. An amateur hacker, but a hacker. I don’t like him.”

 

Nate stood, moving around the table to look at the photo of Sam Mustaine that was labeled as his ID picture in Hastings’s files. He studied the face, the eyes, and Eliot wondered briefly what he was looking for. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it, but he didn’t seem happy about not finding it. “He’s not that important right now,” Nate declared. “What we need to do now is figure out how we’re going to stop this man. Sophie, any suggestions?”

 

Sophie glanced at the screen, tugging on her earlobe thoughtfully. “I think we should look into Knellings’s obsession with this Jen girl. Maybe go check out the coroner’s office, see what the official report says?”

 

“Good. Eliot, you and Hardison do that tomorrow. Sophie, you’re going to go work old man Hastings, and Parker?” Parker glanced up, an excited light entering her eyes as Nate continued, “You and me are going to go plan how to break into Hastings’s Accounting.”

 

***  
  
Sam grabbed Dean’s arm. “Dean, FBI,” he hissed, looking in the window.

 

Dean glanced up in time to see two men flip out ID’s. “Shit,” he muttered. Glancing at their suits, he looked back at Sam. “Lawyers, then. No FBI. We’re looking into some money that Jen’s mother might be able to claim, depending on some things we need to see in the file.” Sam nodded, grabbing the right papers and identification stuff from the trunk of the Impala before following Dean into the building.

 

“Hello, may I help you?” The receptionist, a middle-aged woman, glanced up.

 

“Yes, we’re with Bachson and Sons, and we need to look at one of your reports.” Dean kept his focus on the woman while Sam glanced around, apparently trying to figure out where the FBI guys had gone.

 

“Which report, sir?” the woman asked, getting up and walking over to a slightly ajar door that was labeled “Records.” Dean followed her.

 

“The report on Jen Rhyans’s suicide. We represent her mother, and we think that she might be able to claim some damages and reparations she did not know about previously.” Dean held his breath when he saw the FBI guys were in the room, too.

 

“Well, these men are also looking at her file. I have another copy, though, and you’re welcome to stay in here and look over it.” At Sam’s approaching footsteps, she added, “Your associate, too.”

 

Dean smiled at her, masking the uneasiness. “Of course. Thank you,” he said as she handed the folder she’d pulled out of a filing cabinet to him.

 

Sam’s hand landed on Dean’s shoulder, and when Dean looked up, he noted the intense look in Sam’s eyes. Sam flicked his gaze towards the pair of men, leaning slightly forward to mutter, “The black guy’s Alec Dodge,” as he took his copy of the file and moved to sit on the other end of the room.

 

Dean followed him. “What are you going to do?” he asked, opening his file and glancing at it.

 

Sam looked over the file before tucking it in his briefcase. “Don’t you think it’s odd that he started the same day I did, and now he’s _also_ here, in FBI getup, looking at Jen Rhyans’s folder?”

 

Dean frowned. “Another hunter?”

 

Sam shook his head. “No. I didn’t see any signs that he knows what monsters are outside of stories. No,” he decided. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

 

“Sam, that’s stupid—“

 

“But necessary. Something’s up, Dean, and I need to know what. I’m not getting caught unawares around a guy that just-so-happens to look exactly like Jake Talley and who keeps popping up wherever I go,” Sam snapped, getting to his feet. Dean put his own copy of the report away, getting to his feet and shutting the door, locking it quietly. The other man, Alec’s companion, got to his feet, his body language obviously preparing for a fight, but Dean moved quickly, years of hunting honing his muscles. He met the man halfway across the room, and Sam grabbed Alec as Dean and the other man wrestled on the floor.

 

“Ouch!” Sam yelped when Alec’s elbow smashed into his ribs, and suddenly Sam was fighting Alec, wrestling with him almost as hard as he had ever wrestled with Dean when they were pissed at each other. After a few moments of furious scuffling—and it was a miracle that the receptionist didn’t hear them—Sam finally had Alec in a headlock, and the two of them were watching Dean and Alec’s companion, who were still slugging it out in the middle of the floor. Finally, Dean managed to land a lucky blow to the guy’s temple, knocking him out. After wrapping the guy’s wrists together with his tie, Dean stood up, wiping blood off of his lip.

 

“God, it’s almost as bad as fighting another hunter,” Dean spat, turning his attention to Alec. “Now. What were you doing here?” Dean asked, a small trickle of blood running from a cut just under his hairline.

 

“I’m looking at Jen Rhyans’s file, what does it look like I’m doing?” Alec asked, his voice tinged with just an edge of fear. He glanced down at his companion’s prone form.

 

“You shouldn’t have been able to do that,” he said. “Eliot should have—“

 

“Eliot?” Dean asked sharply. “Not, by any chance, Eliot Spencer?” he demanded, lunging forward and gripping Alec’s suit in his fists.

 

“Dean, back off!” Sam snapped, releasing his hold on Alec and forcing the two men apart, keeping a hand on each chest. “Alec, answer the question.”

 

“Yeah, Eliot Spencer. How do you know him?” Alec looked confused.

 

“Met him several years back,” Dean said shortly, moving to untie the bonds on Eliot’s wrists.

 

“Doing what?” Alec asked.

 

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Sam said, and now he turned and faced Alec more fully, his arms crossing. “First things first: What’s your real name? I know you’re a fake, so don’t even bother trying to deny it.”

 

***  
  
Hardison considered his options. Eliot was unbound, but still out cold—which should seriously _not_ have happened—so he was no use, and obviously this Dean character knew him, and so did Sam Mustaine. And they were in control of this scene now, not him. None of the rest of the team would be able to get to him in time to help if he needed it. Taking a breath, Hardison replied, “My name’s Alec Hardison. I work with Eliot and some other people. We help those in need.”

 

Sam narrowed his eyes, and Hardison got the sense that Sam wasn’t just suspicious of him being there, but that Sam was suspicious of _him_ period. He didn’t quite know what to make of that.  “Why are you going after Knellings?” Sam asked sharply.

 

“One of his former employees’ sons died because Knellings refused to authorize some insurance. The client wanted him to pay, so we’re making him pay.”

 

“Who’s ‘we’?” This time it was Dean who asked the question, looking up from where he was crouched over Eliot.

 

“Me, Eliot, Nathan Ford, Sophie Deveurex, and Parker. And no, Parker doesn’t have a last name.” He watched them, looking for any chance to escape. These two men knew what they were doing, however. There was something about them that made Hardison a lot more scared of them than he should have been, particularly Sam. “Who are you people?” he asked, looking from one to the other curiously.

 

Sam frowned. “We’re Sam and Dean Winchester. Nathan Ford… That name sounds familiar.” He glanced at Dean, who shrugged.

 

“Dude, you probably heard it on the Internet somewhere, and you know that I don’t do crap with the Internet except porn.” Sam rolled his eyes, and then it was like a light bulb went off.

 

“Of course! Nathan Ford, with IYC Insurance. Had that big blow up a few years back, over… Over the death of his son.” Sam frowned. “But he chased criminals, not helped them.”

 

Hardison shrugged. “What can I say? We’re a persuasive lot. Anyway, if you could just let us go—“

 

“No.” Sam looked at him sharply. “I’ve got another question for you: Do you know a man named Jake Talley?”

 

Hardison tilted his head to the side. “Who?” Sam studied him for a minute, and Hardison fought the urge to squirm. Finally, though, Sam nodded and glanced at Dean.

 

“Wake him up, Dean,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes.

 

“Dude, I knocked him out, I can’t just wake him up.” But Dean leaned over Eliot’s body and slapped him across the face, hard. Hardison winced, feeling sorry for Dean as Eliot came to life, lunging off of the floor. A few moments later, however, he was shocked when—after some furious wrestling and some inventive cursing—Dean ended up on top, pinning Eliot to the ground, holding a knife to his throat.

 

Sam reached over and yanked Dean to his feet. “Oh, put it back in your pants,” he said, exasperated. Hardison walked over, helping Eliot to his feet.

 

“Thanks,” Eliot muttered, and then studied Dean, a frown on his face. “I know you,” he said, brows knit together. After a moment, his expression cleared. “Helena, Montana,” he said, snapping his fingers and grinning. “The dude who _almost_ drank me under the table, and then shot the woman who I was going to have sex with.”

 

Dean shrugged, looking uncomfortable, and wasn’t that just interesting, especially with Sam looking at Dean with worry in his eyes? “Something wrong with that?” Hardison asked innocently, and Sam’s gaze immediately hardened as he glanced over at Hardison.

 

“Let’s say my brother and I only kill certain types of people,” Sam said vaguely. He turned and snatched up the briefcases he and Dean had brought with them as Dean unlocked the door. “We’re going,” he said sharply, not giving Dean a chance to protest.

 

Dean studied Eliot and Hardison carefully. “I’d advise you two to leave this case alone,” he said finally, before turning and following his brother.

 

Hardison looked at Eliot, who shrugged before saying after the two had left, “I’m not giving up on this case.”

 

***  
  
That night, Hardison, Parker, and Eliot all made it into Hastings’s Accounting, thanks to the plan that Nate and Parker had hatched that afternoon. Nate hadn’t been pleased to learn that someone else was also investigating their case, but well, there was really nothing he could do about it.

 

Eliot’s thoughts were interrupted by a screeching from the comm. Apparently he wasn’t the only one getting it, because Hardison and Parker were both grabbing for their ears, yanking the offending earpieces out. “Damn it, Hardison,” Eliot swore, putting his piece in one of the pockets of his suit.

 

“Hey, those things should not be misbehaving,” Hardison said indignantly, but then the computer behind him cut on. By itself. All three of them turned to face it, Hardison’s face a study in fear. “What the hell—“ the black man began, but then he was flying backwards, and Eliot was running toward him, making sure he was okay. The next thing Eliot knew, he was flying through the air, away from Hardison, and then Parker was yelping, her body crumpling to the floor against the far wall, next to Hardison’s.

 

Eliot looked up, shaking his head, and was lifted in the air again, pinned against the wall, something pressing around his throat. Not choking, but giving the impression that it could start choking him at any moment. He grunted, trying to reach a hand to claw at this invisible thing, but something was holding his hands against the wall. He saw a woman appear in the middle of the room, her expression furious, a rope hanging around her neck, her hair disheveled and her clothes torn.

 

Suddenly the door flew open, and Sam and Dean burst in. “Hey!” Dean shouted, firing the sawed-off shotgun in his hands, but the woman just frigging _vanished_ before she could get hit, and Eliot slid to the floor. Sam was in front of him, helping him to his feet.

 

“You okay?” Sam asked, and Eliot waved him off.

 

“What the hell _was_ that—“ he began, but was cut off by the sound of the door being slammed open again. Eliot swung towards the door, and gaped. There was a man standing there, and he looked _pissed._

 

“ _You_ ,” the guy growled, stalking towards Dean, who swung around. Swearing, Dean leaped to the side as the man leaped at him, and Eliot felt his muscles unclench as he sprang into action. _This,_ at least, he knew how to take care of. His fist hit flesh, and he smirked, settling into the rhythm of fighting, barely paying attention to the other two men, who were busy doing whatever it was that they did.

 

***  
  
Dean helped the black guy—Hardison—to his feet while Sam helped the blonde to her feet. Sam glanced over at Eliot, and then back at Dean. “Help him,” he said shortly.

 

“With what?” Dean asked, exasperated. “I didn’t bring my machete, because I didn’t think a freaking _vampire_ would show up!”

 

“You don’t have to kill it, just knock it out!” Sam snarled as he shoved Hardison and the girl out of the way of the whirling dervish that was Eliot and the vampire.

 

“Fine, fine,” Dean muttered angrily as he turned, and then launched himself into the fray. A few moments later, both he and Eliot were panting hard, but the vampire was out cold.

 

Dean made his way over to Sam. “I knocked it out, you go get the rope and tie the bastard up,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. Sam just nodded and left, heading back out to the Impala.

 

Dean glanced over at Eliot, who was standing next to the KO’ed vampire. “What the hell is this? What’s going on?” Eliot asked, looking back up to Dean.

 

Dean sighed. “My brother and I, we’re hunters. We hunt the supernatural. This thing? It’s a vampire. No clue why it came after me, but I probably took its mate’s head off or something. Vampires are possessive sons of bitches.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Eliot eyed the vampire cautiously. “And that thing earlier, that had me pinned against the wall?”

 

“Ghost. Specifically, the ghost of Jen Rhyans. She offed herself after Knellings raped her, and now that he’s in command of the company, she’s going after him. Sam and I were headed to go salt and burn her body, but as soon as passed this building, our EMF reader went haywire.” Dean shrugged. “That’s never a good sign, so we decided that we should probably investigate.”

 

Eliot nodded slowly. “So… That thing that you shot and then hacked at with a metal pole, that night in Helena. Was that another vampire?”

 

Dean felt his eyes widen, and he smacked himself in the forehead. “Yeah, it was. This guy… Vamp’s don’t travel alone, unless they’re out for vengeance on a dead mate. He came after _me,_ specifically; he probably got my scent off of her body.”

 

Eliot frowned in confusion. “Then why not come after me, too? Hell, I was the one who was going to have sex with her.”

 

Dean snorted. “No, you were the one who was going to become dinner,” he corrected as Sam came back into the room. “Now c’mon; gotta get these two—“ he gestured to Hardison and Parker—“back to your base, HQ, or whatever you call it, and then Sam and I gotta hit the road for the salt-and-burn.”

 

***  
  
Unfortunately when they dropped the three interlopers off at their building, Parker insisted on grabbing Dean’s arm and dragging him inside, and Sam wasn’t about to go off and leave his brother alone with the crazy people, so he had to follow. When they got to the room the five criminals were using as a base, Sam looked around approvingly. “Nice,” he complimented, eyeing the technology setup. “Whose tech?”

 

“Mine,” Hardison said, and Sam stiffened.

 

“Nice,” he repeated, this time icily. He moved so that he was facing the other five, Dean by his side.

 

“So,” Nate began, taking in Eliot, Parker, and Hardison’s abused appearances. “What exactly happened? You three lose communication, and then you show up with the two men you say got the jump on you in the coroner’s office this morning?”

 

Sam sighed. Obviously they were going to have to go through this again, so he decided to just head it off at the pass. “Look, long story short, you’re not dealing with a criminal. You’re dealing with one pissed off suicide ghost, and she’s out for blood, and she doesn’t care who gets hurt in the way. Your people almost became three casualties. My brother and I are hunters; we hunt the supernatural. You guys are in way over your heads.”

 

Nate’s back went up at that. “Look, I’m not leaving this case—“ he began, but Sam interrupted him again.

 

“Look,” he said, taking a step forward, his hands balled into fists. “You’ve got a guy seriously injured because a ghost freaking _picked him up_ and flung him against the wall like he was a ragdoll! I’m not telling you to leave the case alone forever, just don’t interfere till we’ve burned the body, and then you can go back to running whatever scam you wanted to run on Knellings or whoever.” Sam stared Nate down, refusing to give on this.

 

Eliot stepped forward. “Nate, Hardison’s hurt. I think he might’ve cracked some ribs. Maybe we should listen to them; Dean over there killed a vampire that was going to attack me. I watched them shoot at a ghost with a shotgun, and then Dean and I took down a _vampire_. They’re right; we’re in over our heads with this supernatural stuff,” he finished, putting a hand on Nate’s shoulder.

 

“Finally, someone who speaks sense,” Sam muttered.

 

Nate debated for a few moments, and then finally nodded. “But as soon as you burn that body, you come back here and tell us,” he said firmly. Sam smirked, but stuck out a hand.

 

“I’ll shake on it,” he said. Nate took his hand, pumping it once, and Sam put just a little more pressure into the grip than was strictly necessary.

 

Sam glanced at Hardison, who was staring at him. Straightening his back, Sam turned and left, Dean following him.

 

When they got back to the Impala, Dean slid in behind the wheel, glancing at Sam as he slid into the passenger seat. “So, you convinced he’s not Jake?” Dean asked.

 

Sam was silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he finally said. “He’s not Jake.” He blew out a shaky breath. “Hell of a resemblance, though.”

 

Dean snorted, pulling out onto the road and heading for the cemetery. “Got that right,” he said. They reached the cemetery without accident, and it was a simple matter to find Jen’s grave, dig down to the coffin, and then pry open the coffin, dump the salt and gasoline on the body, and drop a box of matches on it. Afterwards, they shoveled the dirt back into the hole, carefully replaced the rectangle of grass they’d removed, and then headed back to the Impala, making sure to grab all of their gear.

 

“Think that did it?” Dean asked as they pulled out of the cemetery.

 

Sam nodded. “Yeah. She should be gone now.”

 

“Good.” Dean set their course for the building Nate, Sophie, Parker, Hardison, and Eliot were all waiting in. Sam didn’t say anything as they drove there, parked, walked in, and he let Dean explain what they’d done. Afterwards, Hardison approached him while Dean and Eliot were talking weapons, and the best ways to fight which monsters.

 

“So,” Hardison said, sounding a bit unsure.

 

“So?” Sam asked, not looking at the man, but raising an eyebrow.

 

Hardison was quiet for another moment, and then said, “Why are you so… hostile, I guess, towards me?”

 

Sam glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Because you look like the guy who killed me,” he said simply, repressing a smirk at the expression on Hardison’s face, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and horror. “It was almost two years ago. Dean and I were hunting this demon, who wanted me because I could see the future. Anyway, he finally got me, but threw me in this ghost town with a couple of other people the same age as me, all of them with different talents. One guy, Jake Talley, was a soldier. He had super strength, and he was exactly like you. Voice, looks, everything. The demon wanted all of us in that ghost town to fight to the death, and eventually it came down to just Jake and me. I didn’t want to kill him, even though I had the chance. That was a mistake, because he stabbed me in the back, severing my spine. I died. Then Dean sold his soul to bring me back, and when I finally caught up with Jake, I put six or seven rounds in him.” Sam shrugged, like it was no big deal, but he could see that Hardison was ready to start freaking out any second.

 

“So… You guys weren’t kidding about the supernatural stuff?” he asked, obviously floundering for a topic that wasn’t his doppelganger killing Sam.

 

“Nope. We’ve been doing it since I was about six months old, and a demon killed our mother and burned our house down. Dean eventually put a bullet through his skull.” Sam watched Dean and Eliot, who now seemed to be arguing over which type of fighting style was best, complete with examples.

 

“Oh.” Hardison was distracted by Parker coming up and talking to him, asking him if he was okay, and Sam moved away, over to Dean.

 

“Dean,” he muttered, turning so he was facing the other way, his shoulder barely touching Dean’s. “We should be going.”

 

Dean looked at him in surprise. “Why? We’ve killed the ghost, we don’t have any other clues to where Lillith is, so we’ve got some free time.”

 

Sam shifted uneasily. “I don’t like this,” he finally said. “I don’t like staying in one place, just waiting for Lillith to make her move so that we can get there and be too late to stop her from breaking the seal. We should be moving, doing our job, _hunting_ her, not just following her.”

 

Dean looked at him carefully, and Sam just gazed back steadily. “All right,” Dean finally conceded. “Let’s go.” They said their goodbyes, avoiding any offers or reminders to keep in touch, and then left the building, climbing into the Impala and heading west, the radio playing “Carry on, My Wayward Son.”


End file.
